My darling,
How I adore you with all my heart.
You are my sun,
Moon,
And stars,
Or something,
All in one.
Yes, I love you more than life itself.

I love you so much that
My passion will quickly burn out.
Three months in,
I'll stop loving you,
Yet I'll continue the act.
You're so precious to me
That I'll treat interacting with you like a chore.
You're so lovely -
You make me want to treat you like a burden.

Sweetheart,
I long to withdraw from you forever more.
I anticipate refusing to hold you at night.
I cup my ear in hopes of hearing your sobs.
I'm giddy at the thought of withdrawing intimacy.
I await the sweet taste
Of crushing your heart in my fist.

My heart, my soul, all of me -
It was never yours.
How long should I lie to you?
A year? Two years? A decade?
I suppose it depends,
I might be able to get use out of you
For a good long while.
When I finally break it off,
I won't have rhyme or reason.
Dearest, you won't get an ounce of closure,
Or walk away knowing what was and wasn't real.

Don't cry, my angel.
This is just my self-discovery.
I'm doing field work
To become a master heart-breaker.
You might've been been first,
But you won't be the last.
Such is a straight man's love.

Oh, to revisit that familiar, suffocating feeling
Of burrowing under the covers.
A night of one's own company,
Left to make small talk with your mind.
What do you call an introvert who
Hates being alone?

Solitude is a solemn lover,
Creating a mix of solace and uncertainty.
Every dance is a slow dance in Solitude's arms,
Circling round and round the same, stale despair.
Somehow, it feels both right and wrong
Simultaneously.
Your head buzzes violently
When lost in a sea of people,
But does it buzz less in your empty home?
Surely you're happier this way,
With you, yourself, and Solitude.

---TW: themes of self harm---


I'm hungry,
******* hungry.
I'm not really in the mood
For the moldy apples in my fridge.
My brain is hungry though,
******' hungry.

A nagging, a pulling, and a tapping.
The urges crawl to and fro in the back of my skull,
Like drunken, confused spiders.
I roll my eyes back
To take a peep at the spiders,
And I stare at them for a while.
Their clumsy crawling is mesmerizing;
I can't look away, even though I want to.

The stomach growls,
The skin quivers,
And the aroma rises.
The blood running in my veins,
Along with the goosebumps on my skin
Are tantalizing.
Why does it smell better than any actual meal?
My thoughts begin to narrow in on my hunger,
On my skin,
And on my hunger,
And on my skin,
And on the box cutter,
And on my hunger,
And on my skin.
Eventually it's all I can think about,
God ******.

I bite and groan;
I bite and wail.
The guilt consumes me,
But the hunger consumes me
With an even sharper bite.

Passion flows from the pen.
Lines race through the mind
In a feverish fervor.
Such a noble piece deserves a remarkable title -
Something unique,
Innovative,
Never been done before...

"Untitled."
Showing 1 to 20 of a 1,000 search results.

Oh to be the young, Untitled poet.
They live in a world of dreamy wonder.
It takes an earnest naivete to believe
That the three stanzas, freshly written
Are beyond the need for a name.
How can words so profound be labeled?
To name the art would do it a disservice,
Surely.

However, do not frown on the Untitled poet.
No one is born with
A sophisticated understanding of the thesaurus.
Indeed, you were once a starry-eyed artist,
As was I.
We all need our time to bake,
Letting our edges singe and crisp.
In due time, they'll look back on their journey
And take note of how they've grown.
After all,
How can you call yourself a writer
If you don't hate your old work?

----TW: brief mention of blood----

i wanna ***** on your floor.
i don't care how gross it is...
i want you to get a good look
and watch it harden and dry -
like my feelings for you,
like your feelings for me,
like someone's feelings about the weather,
like your lips when they occasionally crack,
like my tears after a regular midnight cry,
like an old man's emotions,
like my emotional intelligence,
like a kid's year old play dough,
like your sliver of remaining motivation,
like an adhd project,
like the blood i'll cough up,
like a teen's sloppily painted nails.
yeah, like all those things.

I'm taking you in and drinking you down
Like a tidal wave.
Our hearts beat in tandem -
A symbiotic rhythm.
I can't take my eyes off of yours.

Though my skin might wrinkle and swell,
I could sit here for hours,
Content in getting lost in your presence.
Water fills my mouth
And runs uncontrollably from my lips,
Falling in a steam of a repeated "I love you."
I say it over and over again;
The phrase comes as naturally as breathing.
It harmonizes with the way the water falls,
And the way my soul reverberates
Against your own.

Every time you pull me close,
Meeting your lips with mine,
The earth pauses on its axis.
With my hands either up to your cheeks,
Or down at your lap,
I'm reveling in you.
I'm content with drowning
In the affection you shower me with.

Even when the faucet eventually runs dry,
I am not.
I don't think I'll ever be able to fully dry off
Your love.